The Only Hope For Me Is You
by ahiddenbanshee
Summary: She will seem a powerful asset and symbol of hope for the company, one that will prove - quite literally - that Aulë is on their side. But her existence hangs in the balance, and they don't know that they are her symbol of hope. On a quest to reclaim a mountain she will learn what it means to live, love, laugh, and lose... And so might someone else learn the same.
1. Meant For So Much More

_The silence was excruciating. Torturous. No sound of commonly continual songs of the wild played, all creatures and even nature itself seemed to cease, waiting with bated breath; the atmosphere shared in the lingering reticent pause. Unknowing yet all knowing, they simply waited to hear word of mouth. There was a hollow whisper on the wind, the breeze causing a flutter through drapery along archways and lavish silks adorning everlasting flesh. The day was darkening, signalling the evening's imminent approach. The darkness would offer relief; brief, but would never be close to enough. _

_He looked upon his progeny, the weight of what he'd caused, the result of his actions and what she had endured, lay heavy on his heart. He knew not how to approach her, he simply remained present until she found the ability to speak, to raise her unseeing gaze from the stone floor and look to him. But he was not at all prepared for the agony he saw within her golden eyes, shining like glass with unshed tears, when she lifted her sight to meet his._

_The quiet seemed to reach a deafening point at her movement from her previously statuesque posture. The wind ceased so not even a leaf's quiver would dismantle the expectant stillness; the sun was descending, light dissipating. The home bathed in darkness, silence leaden._

_Her hushed inhale was a raucous gust of wind before her voice, gravelly with mourning, softly uttered, "He is dead."_

.

"You were to be my greatest creation - not to say that you aren't - but you were meant for so much more, to do so much good, accompany and offer guidance along side the Maiar to shape the World," Aulë paced before a long cushioned chair, five steps past supported legs with feet that crossed at the ankles, then eight steps back to pass the high head rest supporting a casually rested - and plainly unperturbed - upper body. He halted in his pacing and faced the lounging body; glowering down, he gestured with a jerking upturned palm, "Yet here you are, nathith, secluding yourself, all that you're worth, to your chambers. Scoffing in disdain, varnishing your finger nails, when you could be doing what you were foretold to do - to shine your light -,"

"Atan, please," the body's voice spoke, silencing him mid word, finally participating in what had seemed a one-sided conversation. She set the tool meant for rubbing down to shape and smooth her nails on the cushion beside her hip and looked up at her father, who was still fuming, but could never, in all the ages, fully appear angry with her. There was always a softness around his eyes, a stiffness to his shoulders that wasn't construed completely by animosity, but also by discomfort in having to speak to her in such a way. With a sigh she brought her legs to slide off the sofa, sitting upright as her bare feet touched the stony floor. "A myriad of moments you have come beseeching this very same tale, and every time I tell you I shall not remove myself to give aid to those people of Middle Earth. Now is no different, I will not be swayed." She stood from her couch, taking her filing instrument with her and strode to her vanity.

"Ghivashel," Aulë said, pleading yet stern, following her with his eyes. She paused in step for the barest moment and rolled her eyes at his choice of language, then continued to sit upon her cushioned stool. The vanity beared no mirror, there was no need for looking glasses for one to reflect upon their image in Aman. She glided her fingers over the glass stoppers of numerous tiny flasks filled with varying colours and sheens. Aulë continued, knowing he still held claim over her attention though she occupied herself with her varnishes, "You know not the amount of pleading I devoted to Eru to allow another creation life - not another moulded by my own hands, but with the equal support and involvement from your mother. Eru Iluvatar endured our begging until at long last he obliged in the creation and granting of life to you, silmenya."

Her back had gone rigid during his telling, she held a vial of pellucid colour so tightly in her grasp it threatened to crack as she grated out, "I know the story, atan."

Aulë kept on, "It was only with the promise that you should grow to become a figure of prominence, one that should love the children of Ea and protect them against Morgoth's dark forces that he would grant you life."

She stood with such momentum the stool tipped back and skidded a few feet away, she thrust the glass vial in her clenched fist to thud hard against the vanity, shattering the bottle of liquid in her grip and forcing the remaining to clatter in distress. Her long pearly toned hair, always free of circlets or bindings or intricate arrangements, flared around her as she turned, "Atan, I refuse!" she roared, and let loose the shards of glass from her clenched palm to fall and tinkle to the floor, no hint of blood on the pieces, no sign of injury or scar on her skin. "They are a vain, boorish, greedy collection of races and should stand up against their foes on their own! And should they fall let it be so! Let them fall! Without the Maiar intervening we shall let the strongest thrive!"

"You are an ignorant, lonely, selfish little girl!" Aulë burst, his voice like an earthquake, shaking the ground they stood upon, shaking the girl's resolve, her eyes widened, and she stumbled a step backward, hand finding purchase on the vanity to lean against. "This was my last chance to convince you gently! You shall be well versed in the woes of the people of Middle Earth first hand. You will no longer hold apathy for them; once you have learned, you will weep for and with them, else I have failed as a father!"

Her eyes grew rounder, brow climbing up her forehead, "What are you talking about..." she murmured, but Aulë was shaking his head sorrowfully, gaze cast toward the floor. "Atan," she said, "Adad?" she tried quietly, measuring careful steps toward him. He tilted his head back, and she saw a tortured look upon his face, but something else as well, his aura growing brighter, more apparent and vibrant - he was summoning his Valar power. It was a rare thing for a Valar to summon their power in Aman, none had used their gifted power since dawn of the Second Age, and some even longer before then. One thing she knew very clearly, though, summoning power didn't usually mean something good. She sprinted to the archway of her chambers and bellowed, "Amil! Amad! Mother, please!" She made to step through, but she found she could not place a single toe beyond the doorway. She gasped, trying in vain to step through again until she ultimately turned back and faced her father.

"As your ontaro I know what is best for you, and it is my duty guide you down the correct path. I think this shall teach you respect and empathy, and a great many other things. My daughter, cálnya, I expel you now from Valinor upon Aman; you shall not return until the quest is finished, and have appreciated why I have done this,"Aulë intoned, voice like a shuddering mountain. She found feel herself moving without her concession, feet lifting from the ground, heels only dragging lightly against the worn floor until she remained two feet before her father, suspended, constricted of movement. His eyes shined like windows containing an irrepressible light, exploding with power, no longer the warm brown that reminded her of fresh earth. He brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek, a sad tilt to his lips, "Amin mela lle."

"Atad, please," she begged with a broken sob. She still wasn't certain what this was, but considering her current situation, and his explanation of exiling her, she knew it would not bode well for her. She didn't want to lose the comforts of her home, her leisure, the wide beautiful expanse of Valinor, her place among the Valar, her parents.

Aulë had hesitated once in his immortal life, this would not be the second instance. He closed his eyes, took his hand from his daughter's face, and in the next moment felt her presence cease to fill the room.

His power dulled, but he did not venture to open his eyes, too hurt to do so and find himself alone, realise what he had done. But it was all for the greater good, her good, and all of Ea's good. He nodded, assuring himself quietly, "This will save her."

Feet padding against stone growing closer caused him to finally raise his eye lids, and a second later he saw his wife walk through the archway, "What is it? What is the matter?" she wondered, eyes scanning for their child who had called for her so desperately. Her brow scrunched in confusion, she looked to her husband, the lone occupant of the chamber, "Where is she? I do not..." she paused, seeming to focus and reach out with her mind, still seeking what would not be found, "I do not sense her being, nor can I gain contact with her spirit..." Her eyes took in the scene of the room, so empty when it was always inhabited by their lone child. It was constant assurance, she was always here, but - It could not have happened again, she would not allow it. She surged forward, taking hold of her husband's shoulders in a fierce frenzy, "Aulë, what has happened?! Where is she?!"

"Kementárinya, I had no other choice, and it will be good for her. She will be under the guidance and protection of Olórin," Aulë reassured gently, bringing his own hands to pluck her grip from him before replacing his hands on her shoulders.

She surged away, "What have you done to her?! Our daughter!" she shrieked, "You've sent her away?! For what purpose? **For** _**what**_ _**purpose**_?!" she went at him with fists clenched and beat at his chest, the trees outside the wide windows trembled and groaned.

He caught her wrists in a soft grip, stilling her beatings, "Yavanna, I beg you, my darling, hear my words. It was not solely my design to send her forth from Aman. She needs this lest she be destroyed."

Yavanna stilled completely, shock rendering her motionless - the trees ceased their groaning movements. Aulë pressed on, "He called to counsel me, he said, we each of us have a purpose, do we not? And I agreed, of course. Then he said she was not fulfilling her purpose, he said she was filled with an anger toward the World and life we created in it, those who she was meant to protect. I told Eru I would overcome her hatred and persuade her to become what she was intended. And if she would not agree I would banish her so that she will learn their trials, and she would sympathise. She will hurt, she will cry, she will laugh, she will rejoice, and she will love and mourn. She will work hard and know the true bliss of reward. All this she shall learn, she will understand, and she will become the guardian she was meant to be."

His wife emitted a gasping whimper of a noise, "So you set her upon the World with no direction, no path to follow to prove her worth?"

"Of course not, my love. An opportune moment has presented itself; something I feel quite pleased with, actually. She will be among the company of Durinsfolk."

"Khazad?!" she sprang away from his embrace, pacing to the window, "You've put our daughter in the hands of your dwarves?!"

Aulë frowned, befuddlement written on his brow, "My darling, what is the matter?"

Yavanna took a long breath before sighing deeply, and wondering lowly, "At the very least, let me be soothed in knowing you did not strip her power from her."

No immediate answer was given, she kept her eyes firmly planted on the outside world beyond the window, fingers carving deep gouges into the stone sill. Aulë let out a wary sigh of his own.

"She must earn it."

.

.

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* * *

Probably not using '-nya' with all those Elvish words correctly, yikes, apologies for that. I have done hours upon hours of LOTR related research and studied Khuzdul and Elvish dictionaries, but I'm still not so great in the Tolkien knowledge department, so if anyone has any corrections, go ahead and throw 'em at me.

Translations:

Khuzdul

nathith - daughter

ghivashel - treasure of all treasures

adad - father

amad- mother

Quenya

silmenya - my starlight

atan - father

amil - mother

ontaro - parents, begetter

cálnya - my light

Amin mela lle - I love you

Kementárinya - my Earth-queen

Obviously this is an added OC story, a female original character - WOW, what a surprise - and like I said, done the research, still not so knowledgable, but I'm trying to make this seem plausible - as plausible as a story of a story of a fantasty world can be. Uh, I know this first bit seemed kinda murky, but if you're up for it, just bear with me.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Of Quests and Dwarves: Part One

_"What will she be titled?"_

_Eru had a pleased, but more expectant look on his face as he looked over his Earth King and Queen, the coupling he'd allowed a child of their own. It was a trial, should this prove to be successful, should the child become an asset to the World, a wielder of unfathomable power used only for the sake of good, he would consider allowing others to produce offspring as well. But only if this child grew and proved her worth, executed her abilities as planned and foretold._

_She was not a weapon, though she would command a power to literally move mountains, she was not meant to act as an armament of war. She was meant to inspire fellowship and uplift weary warriors, aiding in battle only when the need was dire, or she was called upon._

_Yavanna sat reclined on their enormous bed, watching with a tired, but all together blest expression as Aulë cradled their child swaddled in soft fabric. He stared down adoringly, completely enchanted by the infant of his and his wife's creation; his dark tinted skin a stark contrast to the pale skin of his babe who truly glowed as she blinked wearily, yawning widely. He chuckled softly, taking her little palm to wrap not even half way round his forefinger._

_"She will be a light that illuminates the darkness, and so her name shall mean so. All will rejoice in her radiance, all will liken her name to the hope and light she will represent." _

_Eru and Yavanna followed when Aulë rocked her gently as he strode to the adjoining room, the nursery. He placed the child into her bassinet, and the girl didn't stir in the slightest when she was settled down. He brushed his fingertips along the white tuft of hair peeking out from the confines of the blanket bundled about her, then murmured warmly, "Moria."_

.

When she woke she had the unpleasant sensation of the world feeling heavier around her, and larger too. She sensed this even before she opened her eyes, and sensed the presence of another, one vaguely familiar.

She recalled the details of her expulsion from Aman very clearly, but still could not understand it. There was no doubt in her mind that the Maia would be able to explain.

"Moria," the tone was cordial, meant to be serious in rousing her, but there seemed to be an ever present geniality to the gruff rasp.

Her eyes slid open and she sat up, indeed she was right in feeling smaller, and supposed the atmosphere of Aman had a lighter weight to it than Middle Earth did, the pressure seemed stifling. She startled only slightly when her eyes came upon one of the Istari, having not been expecting this particular Maia, but he took her look of obvious false assumption with grace, smiling in his friendly manner. "Olórin," she murmured, and even her voice sounded different to her in this land. "Curumo, is he-,"

"Set on tasks far more befitting his status among us wizards. I am afraid Saruman is not even aware that such a quest exists, let alone that I have assembled a party to set forth."

"Quest," she mumbled back, lightly put off by the Maia's use of Middle Earth given monikers - remembering his name would be... Gandalf, in the Westron tongue. "Father mentioned a quest, but I do not understand what he meant, or why I am here."

"Your father," Gandalf began, "did not mention much in great detail," the grey wizard answered, and her hopes of insight were dashed, until he continued, "Only that I was to accept you as a disciple that should eventually enhance the likelihood of survival and success of this adventure."

She deflated again, why were specifics of her apparent wrong doing so hard to come by? And why did Maiar tend toward speaking in intricate riddles? She drove her hands through her hair and found the strands still pure white and long, her appearance was still intact then, the air was just heavier, "I do not understand. I did nothing."

"Indeed, you didn't," Gandalf chuckled, and she could remember the warm sound from long ago before the five Istari were sent to Middle Earth - she usually saw more of Curumo since he belonged to her father, but could recall trailing after the robe tails of Olórin, who belonged to Manwë, and Aiwendil, who belonged to her mother. Olórin would laugh his delighted chuckle as she and Aiwendil tended to saplings and had foot races with the wildlife. Her reverie was cut short when she heard his voice continue on, "And that, it seems, is the very reason you are here. You must cease doing nothing and begin to do something, rather that something you were born to do, lest -" Gandalf abruptly halted his words just as Moria had begun to hang onto them like a life line, a sign of hope to grasp the reason she was banished here. The old grey wizard grumbled and busied himself with his pipe, summoning a small flame at the tip of his finger to light the long stemmed pipe and puff busily, yet leisurely.

Moria took inventory of their surroundings then, and of her... person, as well. She was lying on a soft bed of grass, in a forest, a vast forest - she looked all around and saw no space that gave way for homesteads or villages, or fields, or roads. She could not say how tall she was, though she was rather small compared to both her parents, but more so in comparison to her father, a veritable dark mountain of man, she looked the very sight of a shrunken elf maiden, save for her ears, that were rounded like the shape of men. She'd begun to wonder of her divine power when she noticed the grass seemed to caress her skin in a condolatory way, and the trees swayed and groaned in a sound a sympathy though no breeze was on the thick air.

"Where are we -," she stopped herself from speaking his Quenya name, very nearly uttering Tharkûn, before correcting herself, "Gandalf." So many names for a being who was known far and wide on this plain, she wondered if she would have been gifted an array of names, had she cared to fulfill her purpose, and a fear settled low in her stomach, coiling tightly and not likely to release any time soon. This land was a home to evil beings, and she desperately yearned for her safe room, on Aman, in Valinor.

"They call it the Old Forest. The trees are awake, but not so in the way of the Ents your mother created. They, like you, harbour a great dislike of Middle Earth beings, but seeing as you are not a being of Middle Earth they seem to offer a different attitude toward you."

She leveled him with a mildly annoyed expression, to which he simply chortled around the tip of pipe, taking it a slow pull from the stem and releasing a great series of rings in varying colours. "You know more than you offer, Gandalf. Please, tell me why I am here."

"It is not my place to say, my dear. But rest assured, that just as I will put forth my entire effort into helping the dwarves of Erebor reclaim their home, I shall do the same in helping you regain your title and entrance to your home among the Valar."

Moria physically startled, and long blades of grass came to circle around her wrist comfortingly, "What - dwarves, you said?"

"Dwarves, indeed. Now," he perched his pipe between his lips and heaved himself up with a grunt with the aid of his staff, "Must'nt dally," he muttered around the stem before plucking it away to speak clearly, "There is a meeting tonight I must attend." His pipe was finished, he directed it a forlorn look before tucking it away, then taking sudden notice of the distressed look on his charge's face, "I encourage you to move on to Bree. There is in an inn there, called the Prancing Pony, mention my name and you shall find all that you need; accommodations to rest your mortal form that will no doubt grow tired in becoming accustomed to this earthly plane, and you need only ask for food and drink." He pressed on though her mouth parted most likely to voice objection. "I have most courteously provided proper attire for this unexpected journey you shall partake, which you should find in your room upon arrival. Though I had expected you to grow taller," he grumbled the last part as she had struggled to her feet to stand as he spoke. She stood a probable three inches higher than the tallest dwarf he'd ever met; not at all short enough to likely to be mistaken for a hobbit or human child, but no where near tall enough to look of elf kin, though her fair features would mislead. "No matter!" he amended, "Head east, the trees shall guide your path, bare of foot though not thick of sole, I'd think it best you stay on the grass. Familiarize yourself with the boots and clothes provided, my dear, you will quickly find no leisure can be afforded in this quest."

She called for him as the wizard began to walk west, growing more and more confused with each sentence he spoke.

He turned, calling back, "We shall meet in the dawn of the morrow. Prepare yourself, Luminary Daughter!" and he turned again, trekking with his staff and singing a jaunty tune.

Moria wrung her wrists in hand, watching Gandalf's fleeting figure disappear among the endless trees. It wasn't the forest she was fearful of, or getting lost, she was gifted a connection with nature by her mother, she knew these trees, though they did not favour the Children of Iluvatar, would not deceive her. It was people, humans, that she was concerned about. She'd not met a human human before, never engaged one in conversation.

She sighed in distress, then smiled shortly at the feel of a wispy branch stroking over her shoulder. She did not understand and would not likely understand her quest until she began it, which meant she should head east while she still had the light. She let the trees guide her, branches angling in the correct direction to deliver her to the village of Bree. Her mind occupied with endless wonderings of dwarrow, reclamation, her need to do something, to become the protector she was meant to be. Not likely the latter would happen, just as she'd told her father, she would not aid these people of weak constitutions, who showed no resistance against the darkness. They would fall and she would watch them hit the ground without a care, what did it matter to her anyway?

.

.

.

* * *

Note: Right, so I know Moria means something else, like, exact opposite of life and light, but that's how I'm planning on playing it into the story. Bear with me. All things will be brought to the light (ha!). And at this point, yes, you shouldn't really sympathize with this character, she's a little shiT, but like I said: ILLUMINAAATION.

Also, I appreciate the follows!


	3. Of Quests and Dwarves: Part Two

_A grief stricken wail pierced the normally calm night air of Valinor. The tortured sound reaching all corners of Aman, and probably echoing to the western most coast of Middle Earth. It was Aulë who found his screaming wife first, in the nursery, a crumbled heap on the floor beside the bassinet. The ground was shaking with the force of tree roots trembling with her anguish. Aulë instantly fell to the floor to quell her cries, gathering her into his arms, "What is it? What has happened?!"_

_"Taken!" was all Yavanna managed before succumbing into another bout of sobs that shook the earth. He did not want to abandon her, but his new protective nature over his child sent him climbing to his knees and shuffling to the bassinet and peering over the edge to find it void of any being. The pram fell with a great clatter when he shoved it away from him, the earth shook and the foundations of their home cracked when he let out a roar of anger and pressed his fist to the floor._

_"Melkor!" he crowed with complete and utter hatred; no further explanation was needed as others began to arrive to the scene of distress. The search began instantly, all of Arda in pursuit of the agents of Melkor and the Dark Lord himself, who had stolen baby Moria, eventual Leader of the Maiar and Luminary Keeper of Middle Earth._

_She was a being created and meant for good and light, but being so young, corrupting her and harnessing her power would be all to easy for the darkness to utilize._

.

Moria slept fitfully on the unbelievably uncomfortable straw filled mattress topped with a horse hair blanket these people of Men dared call a proper bed. She found herself periodically standing at window and gazing out, watching the sky change as dawn approached; it wasn't all that different a sight from what she viewed in Valinor, and that brought her a bit of comfort. Until dawn was upon her and she'd yet to change into the clothes Gandalf had set out for her and the frankly atrocious riding boots as well. Layers upon layers, she was sure she would be stiflingly warm during the entirety of this journey. Bandages to bind her chest, a long shirt, a tunic, undergarments, long underwear, trousers, two pairs of socks, girdle and belt, a cloak, and those damned boots. She sighed wearily with the weight of her apparel, lacing up her boots in what she hoped was the correct fashion before preparing to set out.

But in the corner of the room nearer the window, she did not know how she had not seen it before, perhaps with so scant of light it had blended in with the shadows. There was a long thick staff leant in the corner, she took it in hand, sweeping her palms over the gently carved, burnished wood. It was an odd feeling, brought to the forefront of her mind, that this weapon should feel so right in her grasp, though she had never made acquaintance with it before. She dipped her fingers into two identical grooves near the opposing ends of the staff and gasped quietly when two pikes, longer than the length of her foot, one slightly curved, the other straight as an arrow, shot out from the tips with a savage hiss. Her widened eyes took in sight of the shining points, and beneath her hands she saw another carving bear itself, her name, written in Khuzdul.

"Of course," she murmured, closing her eyes briefly and letting the silence draw on for another few moments before she dipped her thumbs back into the grooves to sheath the sharpened ends.

Proper clothes adorned, and a seemingly harmless walking stick in hand, she gathered her gown... but then... she'd have no use for it. As Gandalf had said there would be no time for leisure. Surely she'd lose it, or ruin it on the journey. She couldn't leave it here for the next weary travel to stumbled upon, but - the girl. The little barmaid downstairs, she would like it. Moria was briefly alarmed at her hope and worry for another girl's - let alone a human girl's - preference in leisure dresses and taking new ownership of one of hers. A gift as fine as this, only a fool wouldn't accept it... But the girl was very nice, she'd made she sure was comfortable and said if she needed anything she should only holler her name and she'd come running... Yes... As far as first encounters with a human went, it was a good one, and this human deserved this gift of thanks.

There was a lightness in her heart and flutter in her stomach when the girl's eyes lit up and shined over with tears, of course she had tried not to accept it, but Moria had assured it, where she was going, she'd have no use for it... Even though she still had no bloody idea where she was bloody going, or what the bloody reason for this journey was!

She just tried to focus on that girl's happy face as she left the Prancing Pony and went in search of stables.

[There was little to be known of Moria, given her reclusive way, and there was a false assumption that she was a shy being because of this. She had ideals, she understood war and politics and all the things she should be aware of given her place in the World, she just rarely exercised her voice to give her opinion. She had a voice, a loud one when she could be bothered to use it, and she was just as stubborn as her father, a trait he passed onto her and implemented as a primary feature in his dwarves. So whether she wanted to be a part of this damned journey, whatever it was for, whatever it was to prove and gain, she would see it through only because it was impossible for her to leave now once she was involved. The dwarves would need convincing, and preparing for meeting a creature far more bullheaded than themselves, with a wrath they daren't ever tempt.]

.

"There is another, I may have forgotten to mention last night," Gandalf started slowly as he and his company of thirteen dwarves neared the gates of Bree. More accurately: purposely forgot. With less time to argue about their final member they more likely Thorin and the rest would just agree to it and hurry to get a move on.

"Another dashed hopeful," Bombur commented.

"No, no, Master Bombur, I assure you this volunteer will not turn away this expedition. And one we can trust, I assure you, Thorin Oakenshield, but... _they_... will be joining us later on, at the stables of Bree."

"And why could they not be present last night?" Thorin asked, not at all the only one picking up on Gandalf's sketchy manner.

"There was much they needed to tend to first," Gandalf gave in quick explanation.

Bofur nodded, the flaps of his hat bobbing after the initial motion, "Leavin' the family behind, distraught wife, well wishes and all that?"

"Uh, yes, something of that sort, I'm sure," Gandalf mumbled and cleared his throat noisily, busying his hands and mouth as he packed some Old Toby into his pipe.

.

Moria could hear the argument before she came upon it, practically anyone in the Shire could hear the argument raised in deep rasping commanding voices.

"I will not take on the burden a woman on this quest, it is far too important to me, Gandalf!"

"She is not one who will need looking after, Thorin Oakenshield! I assure you, she will be an asset!"

"She is not welcome in my company!"

Moria swallowed thickly, and tried not to groan a tired groan she knew by her mother. '_Dwarves,_' she would groan, '_Your father's khazad._' And that was it. But now, she was positive she would get a very detailed lesson in understanding her mother's aggravation.

The shouting halted only when Gandalf's eyes drew to her awkwardly adjusting the shoulder clasp of her cloak, "Ah," the bright look that immediately overtook his grim visage was a comfort, but in addition to the thirteen faces that were directed at her in horror... it didn't exactly balance out. "Here she is," Gandalf came to welcome her and hauled by an arm around her shoulders to meet closer the critical eye of the company.

"Absolutely not."

"Thorin!" Gandalf snapped. And the one deemed Thorin turned his face away in anger and disinterest, as if he didn't look at her, she would suddenly not be there anymore. '_Dwarves_.' She squinted at the one who was very apparently the leader, but then switched her gaze to the rest, gauging their reactions. Most were still within the realm of horror, but others seemed to be staring more accurately because of the fairness of her features. Even dwarves, though they preferred the robust and bearded of woman (and likely men as well) for companions, could not deny the fairness and beauty of other races. "Her name is Gharïn," Moria glanced up at the wizard and was met with the side of his eye and minute twitch of a wink, she pursed her mouth to keep a straight line, resisting the frown that threatened to produce, "By direction of her father, she will join us as the fifteenth member of this company."

"Don't you mean fourteenth?"

"Yeah! No way that hobbit's comin'!"

"Mr. Baggins still has time to show!"

She couldn't keep up and figure out which voice came out of which dwarf, for now all she could put a name and voice to was Thorin, and he spoke again, directing his eyes only at Gandalf, "This is not a quest for the faint of heart or body. A woman would only hinder us, we need not another member to care for and protect when they cannot do so for themselves. She can not accompany us."

Gandalf's hand on her shoulder flexed its grasp before disappearing completely, and he stepped forward toward the leader dwarf and explained, "She must join us, she must prove her worth and gain knowledge so that she might change her fate."

Moria's mouth opened in silent question, there was some new information, change her fate what?

"Is she mute? Can she not explain these things herself?" a dwarf with an ear trumpet wondered aloud.

"She is not mute, Master Oín, she has travelled a great distance and is not yet clear of mind and understanding of the task set forth. She will not put a damper on any one of your concerns, she can take care of herself, or, lest she be left to fate, she will learn to," Gandalf turned to her as his tone turned grave, and she felt something plummet heavily into her stomach, and she wondered just how far this mortality went.

"As long as we agree that she is not our responsibility..." Thorin turned his eyes upon her, his eyes that sent a chill down her spine not only because of their astounding colour, but of the pain and woes they carried, the haunted stories of war and death they had seen. Again she found herself swallowing thickly at the lump formed in her throat. Thorin finally released her from his gaze and looked to Gandalf and the others, "We set out within the hour. Perhaps by then the halfling will have caught up, if you truly believe he will come."

"He will, I have no doubt."

Moria watched the dwarves and wizard depart every which way about Bree, most going to fetch supplies more likely. She startled when she felt a tap on her arm and had to turn her gaze downward only the slightest bit to see a dwarf with a rather interesting hat atop his head, beneath which two braids followed the upward aloft way the flaps of his hat went.

"So what is it then, pr'ncess, y'can talk, or y'can't?"

"I am not a princess," she answered abruptly, only realising with Gandalf's lie that concealing her true identity was probably a good idea; with news of her on this mortal plane who knew what dastardly schemes would follow. In Valinor she hardly considered herself a princess, even if her mother and father were King and Queen of the Earth, she never really pictured herself as a thing of royalty. A powerful being of forever, free to leisure, obviously, but royal, not really.

"Ah! She speaks!" the hatted dwarf crowed in triumph, "Now, explain me this. What manner of creature _are_ you?"

Her eyes widened as he scurried around her form, looking and inspecting over every inch.

"Alright, enough. Go on and make sure your brother doesn't eat half of our food stock." Now it was the tallest of the bunch of dwarrow, ink embedded in his skin that was visible, and probably even more ink on skin that wasn't visible. He looked gruff, and well worn by years of war, hard work and travel, meaner than Thorin, probably. But when he spoke to her, "C'mon, lass. We take breakfast then we're off," she hadn't expected it to be in moderate kindness. Though there was a suspicious glint in his eye, she didn't dwell, and hurried along with his direction.

Not soon after breakfast they were atop ponies, Gandalf astride a horse, and headed east. Moria kept pace beside Gandalf, trying not to let her ear lean to listen to the whispers behind her. But not long were they on the road did they come to a halt at the sound of a voice calling, beseeching for them to wait. The group came to stop, and with a contract in hand, a hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins was officially inducted into the company as their burglar. There were so many details in both their dwarves quest and her own quest that she had no solid knowledge of. Trying to sort things out would've done her head in if the sight of Mr. Baggins looking so affronted atop his pony didn't distract her and make her feel so much less of the odd man out anymore. Saddling and riding this animal didn't at all seem correct to her, but she supposed mortal forms could not handle such a journey, otherwise they wouldn't be on horseback.

"Hullo," Mr. Baggins said, shaking Moria from her apparently not-so-hidden smirk, "I don't recall you bombarding my peaceful home last night."

If ever she was lucky enough to find companionship upon Middle Earth it would be with Bilbo Baggins.

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Note: I'll admit that was already a big leap of kindness for such a cold character, but it's Katie, KATIE THE BARMAID! How could you not be kind to Katie the Barmaid!? How could Katie the Barmaid not instill goodness within you?! (and looking at the credits now I see she is credited at Betsy Butterbur... but you see, you wouldn't have known who was I referring to if I didn't say Katie the Barmaid... unless you were already...aware... ahem! i'minlovewithKatie. What? I don't know, shh.)  
Also Thorin is a jerk, I never defend against him not being a jerk, he is seriously such a jerky jerk, and it's unbelievable. I mean, like character development happens and stuff, but he's largely just a short beardy jerk. But dammit, I adore him.  
Bofur is always good.  
And Bilbo is great, always is, always will be. ENd of note.

Just kidding, not end of note. The fake name Gandalf gave to Moria is a clever - not so clever reinvented spelling and pronunciation of the Khuzdul word gharinh which means (the) cave (uninhabitable)-lady. Which will be further explained in the next chapter.

Thanks for the views, follows, favorites and reviews!


	4. The Dwarves of Erebor

They traveled while they had the light of day, and Moria soon found that even if not traveling on her own two feet, great distance was still arduous on the body. But if one good thing came from their first wearisome day of travel, it was during the beginning of their journey, through forests, meadows, along streams and grassy hillsides, she came to know each name of the company and who they belonged to. Most were still off put by her attendance in this quest, more often than not it was young Kíli or his elder brother Fíli (who were both sister son's of Thorin - hard to believe given their rather friendly demeanours), or Nori, the dwarf with the striking nearly six pointed star-like look to his ginger hair and beard, Bofur, the flappy hatted dwarf with the constantly warm glittering brown eyes and cheeky grin, and surprisingly, the gruff, foreboding, tattooed dwarf, Dwalin, who offered her conversation when times grew quiet on the trek.

Nori had two brothers, the little one with the freckles, who was fond of his sling shot and tomes, Ori, and the fussy one who was all together upset that Nori was even giving away their names to this strange girl, Dori. Bofur had his brother, Bombur, the ginger dwarf who was largely (in a manner of speaking) their chef for the journey; they also had their cousin, Bifur, who had an orcish axe embedded in his head, which couldn't be removed lest he likely die, and do to this injury his only form of communication was through the ancient, secret dwarf language of Khuzdul (she tried her very best not to make a big show of her eye roll, she knew all languages, but Atan had made a big bustle of teaching her Khuzdul, since he created the language himself, she'd been speaking the harsh tongue of the dwarves since she could form garbled syllables between gurgles and coos - she would risk conversation with the quiet dwarf later on, she decided). Dwalin had an elder brother, Balin, who seemed the oldest and wisest of the bunch, yet seemed too fearful or couldn't be troubled to glance her way. They had their cousins, Glóin and Óin, the former with a robust red hue to his hair and penchant for pinching his pennies, the latter, the one with the ear trumpet, was their medicine man; they were neither here nor there about Moria (Gharïn, rather) joining the company. Unlike the leader, as she perceived correctly, of the motley crew, Thorin Oakenshield, who kept his gaze firmly opposite of whichever direction she may be from him, which made it simple for him since she was usually lagging behind with Bilbo and Gandalf.

It was by Bofur that she learned what this quest actually entailed (playing the role of curious daughter of a kindly wanderer who was a great friend of the dwarves was simple enough for her), what would be the big pay off in the end, she wondered. Which would, in fact, be quite a big pay off indeed; miles of treasure awaited in the kingdom of Erebor, to which they had a map vaguely explaining the whereabouts of a hidden door, and a key to said hidden door. _Crafty, distrusting dwarves_, was all she could really think of after the matter of the invisible door was further explained. But locating a door that could not be seen was not the worst of their duties, there was also the business of the dragon who had taken residence in the kingdom, specifically in the treasury.

"Smaug the Terrible," they called him. He'd not only flushed out Erebor of all its citizens, but had decimated the prosperous city of Dale which bordered the great lonely mountain.

A hush came over the group, and Moria found her brow drawing together in confusion - not solely at their sorrow, but at her own twisting gut which mirrored their sadness. She shouldn't have cared, she honestly couldn't care either way; it was like she had explained to her father, let the stronger thrive, let the weak die... But now she couldn't imagine how scared and hopeless they must have felt, all the people lost do to a dragon's fire and greed... She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and implored for Bofur to continue.

"I was just a wee dwarrow m'self. Can't really recall much, but every dwarf knows the tale."

"No aid came to you?" She damned her tongue for betraying her, damned her mind for thinking against her beliefs: strong live, weak perish; so why was her heart swelling with emotion for their pain, loss and betrayal of allies.

"Elves of the Woodland Realm. They came," Dwalin said from further up the line. "Came to watch us suffer and burn before retreating back to their forest."

The silence tinged a bit darker, and she dared not break it again.

By dusk they settled down for the night on a break in a cliff face. Food in their bellies and warmed by a small fire, most settled on bed rolls on the hard ground and drifted to sleep easily. Moria was not so lucky, even with the luxurious bed roll Gandalf proffered her from his belongings tied to his horse. Spoiled, even if she was meant to learn the hardships of life on the road in Middle Earth, she thanked the wizard gladly. She stationed herself by Gandalf, curled on her side, and looked toward the night sky, wondering if her mother was looking at the stars right then too.

It was a distant howling paired with Bilbo's flustered concern that perked her up. With legs criss crossed beneath her she looked to the young brothers who explained the sounds of orcs, flesh eaters and throat cutters, who struck swiftly and silently in the night, leaving only blood in their wake - a tale befitting horror to keep children awake at night, but it had done the trick to spook poor little Bilbo.

She shook her head at their chuckling behind pipe stems while Bilbo still looked extremely frightened.

The gruff sudden sound of Thorin's voice silenced their laughter and wiped the grins from their faces, "You think orc raids are a joke?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili amended quietly, his tone near shameful.

Thorin berated them once more before stalking to the cave's edge, standing near where their ponies were tethered on the grassy slope, with hands folded behind his back, eyes intent on the distant tree tops. Sleep was hard to come by twofold with the added tension in the air, not only of the possible worry of orcs, but of the awkward air given off by the youngest pair of brothers. Moria had begun to settle herself in for a sleepless, quiet night but the sound of Dwalin's brother, Balin, shattered the uncomfortable void. He explained that Thorin had more cause than others to hate orcs and continued on into a tale of old that told of a battle outside the gates of Dwarrowdelf, or as he simply titled it the Gates of Moria. She had startled at the sound of her true name, but tried to play it off as a reaction to the chill in the air, hoping no other had seen her initial alarm.

Balin depicted a battle which waged for years, between Khazad and orc over claim of the great dwarven kingdom. After losing their home in Erebor they had fled and become constant wanderers. They had hoped to find refuge in the vast mines of the Misty Mountains, but discovered that yet again they would have to put a fight that proved largely futile to claim right to what was always theirs since before the rise of the sun. Balin described a large pale orc by the name of Azog the Defiler, who was adamant in his efforts to destroy the Line of Durin.

Again, Moria startled, but had hid her response by simply curling her hands tightly into her bedroll and letting her eyes widened just a touch larger as Balin continued the memory.

Azog had beheaded Thorin's grandfather, Thror, amid battle, and his father, Thrain, had fled in his grief and madness. Azog was intent on destroying Thorin too, but, as Balin told, he would find that the Line of Durin would not so easily be spent. Thorin, a much, much younger dwarrow then, fought hard and valiantly against the giant orc; wielding an oaken branch after losing his shield and his sword, he kept up his defense until regaining his long blade and slashing forward with all his might. He took from the pale orc his arm, bearing him wailing and defeated from battle. With renewed vigor Thorin led his kinsmen into the fight and brought them to victory. Though there was no feast, or song that night, with so many lost they could not find it within them to celebrate, Balin had looked to Thorin, just a young prince, battered by war and soiled by gore, and saw one he could follow, one he could call King.

Clearly not all had been present at said battle, not all had known of this tale, as most had risen from their resting places and were now staring in awe at their company leader, Moria most definitely among them, though her astonishment was most surely in a different course.

She turned her gaze away when the prince's brilliant blue glance pulled toward her, incapable of even the idea of gaining eye contact at the moment. She was grateful for Bilbo's wondering of whatever happened to the pale orc, to which he was answered by Thorin's rough reply that the filth was dragged away from battle and succumbed to his wounds long ago. She didn't miss the look Balin and Gandalf shared, but figured that was something that they'd likely not face again, and would not place worry over.

Instead she shot a hasty glance Thorin's way, still in disbelief, though she knew there was no lie, he was the Prince of Erebor, the rightful King, born from the line of Durin. She snapped closed her gaping mouth and scrambled closer to Gandalf to hiss quietly so that no other should hear her distressed query, "You can not be serious. Durin's Son?"

He'd had her fixed with a look of concern until she spoke, then a warm expression took over, and the wizard simply chuckled around his pipe, his laughter turned visible by the puffs of smoke escaping his mouth, "It seems your chance to repay Durin the Deathless has presented itself, my dear."

.

_For six nights and five days Moria the Illuminate was lost. All searched high and low. The Elves searched through the forests, waded through lakes, over and under hill; the dwarves swept over every peak and crevice of the mountains, and deep within their caves and mines that ran miles upon miles into darkest parts of the earth._

_Hope was nearly lost until the eldest Father of the Dwarves delved into the deepest pit within a mountain unclaimed, going so far, that even his keen eyes could not see through the dark. But it was by sound that kept him going, the sound of a babe's cry, so distant, echoing oddly off the rock, that one wouldn't have given it another thought, one wouldn't have when dark creatures could lurk in such space unseen or mapped. But Durin was a brave dwarf, and he would not lessen his efforts for his Creator's great loss._

_He kept on, and on he kept, until the cries grew clearer, and there seemed to be a light breaking through the thick veil of stifling darkness. Her light was dim, and her cries no longer as strong, but she lived. "Moria," Durin gruffly cooed in an effort to soothe the Ainu babe. "Such a tiny thing," he murmured as he lifted her from the cold stone floor, her sobs lessened, but stopped only after he wrapped her up in his long beard and cradled her securely in the crook of his arm. "Such a small thing, but powerful you will one day be. These days you were lost, you were not bested by dark forces, you stayed strong, little one, remember that. You will grow even stronger, and none shall ever best you again... I can only hope that my sons and my son's sons will know your light, kindness, and power, should they ever need it."_

_The ascent back to the light seemed a shorter journey than the descent, all the while Durin spoke to the infant, as that seemed to keep her calm._

_"Moria, hmm," the dwarf hummed then chuckled, "It is a good name. And this, is a good mountain, it would make for a good city, and mine... In the Misty Mountains lay the Halls of Durin, within the city of Moria. A shining city that will flow with glinting jewels and metals, shine like the tough, little child of Valar it is named after."_

_Durin was gifted an extended life for the great deed of recovering Moria. Though his stories he told her of the greatness she would instill upon the World, she would never enact. Moria would never see Durin again, would never see another dwarf, or Elf. She wouldn't step or even glance toward the East where Middle Earth lay, wouldn't step beyond the limits of Valinor... until her banishment would bring her into the service of Durinsfolk._

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Note: And here we are! Back storyyy! Elucidated! But there's more to come! And notice! The thawing of icy hearts! Well, one heart particularly. Now this can be justified because these are dwarves, these are her father's creation, and Durin is a soft spot for Moria. Likely unconsciously Moria has a weakness for the dwarves because of Durin but also because of her father's pride for them, instilling a pride for them in her, and also empathy - even if she hates it.

So... yeah. That was fun. Thanks to all who have favorited and followed. Reviews are always appreciated and inspirational.


	5. Braids & A Darkness Within

For days they travelled, following the same pattern as the first day. Travel with the light, rest with the night. As the days passed, Moria - now companionably called by name as Gharïn - learned to pick up the slack, knew how to ride properly, and even held her own against volunteered sparring opponents. She lost more times than she won, but she moved as fluidly as the elves when on the offensive, and struck determined, sure and hard as a dwarf smithy on her defense. Her staff was literally made for her, but it proved that fact even more so when she wielded it as more than just a walking stick. She didn't reveal the deadly sharp pikes when fighting with her dwarven companions, in fear of hurting them should she get lost in the motion of the fight. Every time she found herself bested, with either her back to the ground or a blade to her neck, she would laugh and admit her defeat, and gladly accept the hand offered to help her up.

In Aman she had trained some with father (by request of her father), as well as her mother, which was likely the reason for her opposing styles, light and quick on her feet, then striking hard. She met with other Valar and Ainur who offered advice, different opponents meant different styles, and she logged all the information away, even if she would never use. The staff was all she could rely on since her power appeared drained from her completely; she'd tried producing a light in the darkness a previous night, knowing for certain that she was alone before her making her attempt which proved fruitless. She'd never used her power in moments of training, in hindsight she realised she'd never used her power in more than the use of lighting her path as she wandered through her darkened home on restless nights.

She wondered what she could do with her power beyond that, in a fight, in battle. She wondered if she'd ever get her power back, wondered when this quest would end would she be allowed home again. They were wonderings not dwelt on when from behind her she could hear Dori moaning if Gandalf could do anything about the rain pouring heavily down upon them. They were a midst yet another forest, though the foliage did little to cover them from the downpour. Moria had no idea how they could find their way, how they knew which way they were going was the correct way, if it weren't for the trees gently swaying their affirmation to her that they were in fact going the right way she would've wagered they were going in enormous circles all the time.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done," Gandalf explained, dashing anyone else's hopes of being spared from soggy misery.

Moria smirked, the rain wasn't bothering her, even with it soaking through her cloak hood and seeping into her hair, she didn't mind it.

"If you wish to change the weather of the world you should find yourself another wizard," Gandalf stated, and Moria couldn't help the giggle that escaped her throat, knowing full well that the gift of manipulating weather wasn't a common one, nor was it simple to master.

Gandalf glanced down at her from high atop his steed and mirrored her little smile until Bilbo's voice interrupted, wondering, "Are there any?"

"What?"

"Other wizards?" Bilbo expanded.

"Ah! Yes, of course," Gandalf answered, "There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, the White. Then there are the two blue wizards, Morinehtar and Rómestámo, they've not been seen since they journeyed to the East at the beginning of the Second Age."

Gandalf glanced to Moria again, but there was a sorrow and darkness in his eyes far opposite of the mirth and light that had been there moments ago. Such strange names the Maiar adopted upon entering Middle Earth, she knew these wizards by their true names, but with simple translation she could identify which moniker belonged to who. These female wizards, Morinehtar and Rómestámo, or as she knew them better, Pallando and Alatar, were just as much teachers to her as her parents were. Pallando had sight that reached far across the World and even further after that, she told her all of the sun and moon, though she favoured the sun, and explained how important light was, and how Moria would eventually learn just how important her light was as well. Alatar was another Maiar that belonged to her mother, she was keeper of the trees and all plant life, though she was also quite a fearsome warrior; a dark warrior, Moria recalled her being referred as, but not in the way that she fought for the darkness, rather she was most lethal under the cover of night. She had spent quite a lot of time with Moria explaining things that she didn't exactly understand as a younger being, things about dark and light and her and coexisting and great power. Many times she'd thought over her words and tried to make sense of them, but simply could not. She badly wanted to speak with her again, to have her explain more, but she, along with Pallando, were sent in her stead (by both her and her mother's refusal to send her) on a mission to the east.

Moria ducked her head down, a shame tinged swoop churning her stomach as they marched along. They were gone - whatever had happened to them - because of her, that is what it boiled down to.

"And the fifth?" Bilbo prompted.

Gandalf smiled warmly, "Well, that would be Radagast, the Brown."

The mention of Aiwendil was enough to draw her from her sorrowful slump, exciting her enough to nearly burst forth and ask Gandalf of news of the kindly wizard. But luckily for her, Bilbo's backhanded question of, "Is he a great wizard, or is he more like you?" stifled her excitement, but not her snort of amusement at Gandalf's mildly affronted expression.

"I think he's a very great wizard, in his own way," Gandalf said, "He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East, and a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world."

The rain let up not soon after, and quiet took over again as the dwarves, the hobbit and wizard all busied themselves with their pipes, all types of pipe tobacco and weed clouded the air with smoke and harsh scents, and Moria was glad she was leading the line with Gandalf, only getting hints of the mild scent of Old Toby now and again.

They came to halt on a grassy hill upon emerging from the forest, with an hour or so before dusk. Moria was busying herself with the ponies but could see that something was amiss between their leader and Gandalf. Not soon after she had seen the rigid straightness come to Gandalf's spine and the scowl upon Thorin's face did she see Gandalf taking long strides her way.

"I pray you have more patience than me, I will not be long," he murmured quickly as he passed and she nodded. Though the others had not heard him and Bilbo wondered where he was going in such a huff and hurry.

"To seek the company of the only one around here who has any sense," Gandalf replied brusquely.

"And who's that?"

"Myself, Mr. Baggins! I've had enough of dwarves for one day!" And soon Gandalf's form was gone from sight, his lengthy steps taking him away from camp quite quickly.

"Is he coming back?" Bilbo wondered, but none could offer a sure answer.

Kíli and Fíli took care of the ponies, entrusted to keep a watch over them carefully, while others set up camp and Bombur got supper started. Wandering down the hill they discovered a stream of clear water, freezing in temperature, but very much welcomed and much needed for a quick scrub down.

"There'll be no scented soaps here, princ'ss," Bofur said as they journeyed back to the camp to decide on groups and who would go first, then second and third and so on. Moria rolled her eyes at the title he granted her since day one, "You'll just have to tough it out in what nature bestows upon ya."

"I've told you," she replied without any heat, but rather a touch of amusement she wished wasn't noticeable in her tone, "I'm not a princess."

He nudged his shoulder into her upper arm, "Well, I'll be sure to stop calling you that provided you've stopped acting like one," he ended with a chuckle.

She wasn't sure how to react to that, because she was sure she wasn't acting like a princess in any manner of way. Yes, she had had a bit of a fit over the fact that the stews Bombur made largely revolved around meat - with no offense meant toward his cooking she couldn't eat it, she wouldn't. '_It's the bloody circle of life, lass_!' Bofur had crowed when she'd gone pale after her first spoon full. Dwalin had tried to explain it that they respected the animal before killing it, and they didn't hunt for sport, just for survival. To her own credit she hadn't vomited or fainted, but still Bofur would not let up, even when she aided as much as she could in the harder work. At this point she figured he was just jesting with her, but there were some who still weren't convinced that she should have a position in this company.

Though those 'some' charged themselves with the task of keeping a look out for her while she bathed in the river. At the start she'd worried about anyone getting a glance of even just her bare shoulder, but being in the company of thirteen dwarves changed ones perspective on modesty. Thorin was of royal blood, no matter how long he'd been ejected from his kingdom and left to roam the vast lands of Middle Earth - which in this case - and shouldn't be understood as always the case - meant he had a sense of modesty as well. He had the tact not to give in to a straying glance toward a bare skinned maiden a midst her bath - at least she assumed so, since she'd turned her back and made hasty work of scrubbing the dirt from her skin and tangled hair because that water was unbelievebly cold and impossible to grow used to once submerged.

She passed the dwarf prince, fully dressed, wringing the water from her hair, still shivering from the cold and anxious to crowd close to the fire. "River's all yours," she quoted Bofur through chattering teeth.

Moria was seated by the fire, among the rest of the dwarves, save for Kíli and Fíli who were still with the ponies, and Thorin, who was having his turn among the icy waters of the river - she daren't let her mind stray to places they ought not, but even the thought of not thinking of the thought led to thinking of the thought, and she couldn't withhold a bold blush from heating her cheeks. It was an odd and abrupt swirling in her gut, she could not properly identify it. Dusk was upon them and she hoped the darkness would hide her strange flush from observant eyes. She huffed and grumbled at the tangles in her swiftly drying hair, "I've never done anything with it. Always kept it loose. But confound these tresses, I nearly wish to hack it all away, be free of it entirely."

"No, no!" the dwarves responded altogether, and even Bilbo had a look of horrified disapproval.

"No, no, no, don't do that," Bofur said after the initial startled sounds passed. She glanced around at the dwarves, their elaborate and individualised styles of well kept beards and hair and braids and brass clamps and beads. They were actually quite lovely artistically.

"Why ever not?" Moria wondered, intrigued by the company's sudden reaction to a fleeting comment, but very much aware of how they valued their long hair and beards; but this was _her_ hair they were throwing a fit over, which was quite strange.

"Well, ye see," Bofur began, then stopped, wetted his lips and opened his mouth to continue, but then paused to wet his lips and chew on his thumb nail before breathing in, just to pause again. Thorin had joined them again, looking cleaner than before, but not at all happier. "Uh, ye have such a, uh, well it's more to say that yer, um, it'd be such a waste. To lop off all your locks, that is. Though, that's not saying it would ruin yer, uh, uhhh, appearance all together! Just -" he took in another breath, as he had rushed out all his previous words in one go, "It's quite lovely hair, you've got."

Her brow was raised in astonishment, she glanced around at the other dwarves and saw they had similar expressions of shock and amazement, but likely at the fact that Bofur had just made such a fumbled admission in an attempt at being aloof. In actuality he'd complimented her hair, but her looks as well, which was odd, given dwarvish taste in companions tended toward the broad and beardy side. Nevertheless she'd take a compliment where she could get it, especially coming from a dwarf.

"Right," Moria figured an attempt at being just aloof as he would be the correct way to go about it. And she hid her smirk behind her hand when she saw the hatted dwarf's shoulder sag in relief. "I simply must do something about it, though. Snarls so easily. It's hazardous as any. You all have these lovely braids... I wonder if..."she looked about her, at the braids adorning some, and in others none, some quite intricate, others quite simple, "Surely someone might help me tame this." She gestured with her hands full of her moderately clean, knotted, light hair and dropped the heft of it back into her lap.

She was rewarded with silence and awkward glances away from connecting with her eyes. She looked to Bilbo, "Have I said something?"

He raised his shoulders in a shrug, and they both looked to Balin when he spoke, "Not your fault, lassie. 'Tis but a bold request. Usually the beginnings of a courtship, for our kind, that is."

"Oh," she hummed, but then the realisation actually struck her, "Oh! My apologies."

Dwalin chuckled warmly beside his brother, "Think nothing of it." And the quiet came again, aside from the sounds of wildlife and the crackling fire and the stew bubbling in the cauldron.

"Perhaps one of you could show her on your own hair how it goes," Bilbo offered slowly, glancing about the camp, "Then she could manage hers."

Nori snapped his fingers and slapped his hand against his knee, "A fine idea, that!"

"I'll show you, Gharïn!" Ori hopped up, hands immediately reaching up to undo one of his own braids, but Dori yanked him back down with a hissed scolding.

It was eventually Glóin who showed her the basics, and when the dwarves backs were collectively turned - which was to say that Bilbo and Moria had snuck off to 'check the perimeter' - Bilbo helped her to get a braid started close to her skull, and stopped only when there was enough for him pass the three thick parts over her shoulder and allow her to finish the rest. The end of her braid was tied with a bit of string from her cloak, and it hung thickly to the base of her spine.

They arrived back, with Moria whispering her thanks to Bilbo and stooping down to drop a kiss on his cheek (That's what they do, right? Hobbits, or was it humans? An act of gratitude? Right?) just as the stew was being doled out. She missed the way Bilbo was blushing madly because of the praises she was gaining at the sight of her properly tamed mane. She sat between Óin and Glóin, carefully nursing her bowl of stew, trying not to think too hard on the animal meat they were feasting on. She was halfway through when she heard Bilbo's worry tinged note of, "He's been gone a long while."

"Who?" Bofur asked as he ladled up a couple bowls full.

"Gandalf."

"He's a wizard," Bofur rationalised, "He does as he chooses. Here," he set the ladle back and handed Bilbo the two bowls, "Do us a favour and take these to the lads."

Bilbo glanced in that wistful way of his that meant he was slightly terrified and entirely concerned before starting toward the trees. Moria jumped up, passing the brothers near the little cauldron of stew, and pushing her half eaten bowl into Bombur's all-too-grateful hands, even after Bofur had tsked him, telling him he'd had plenty. She caught up with Bilbo, calling his name quietly, and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I'll have a look for him, shall I? To ease your concern? I'll talk him 'round again." She proffered a reassuring smile, and the hobbit gave a halfhearted attempt of a smile in return, though completely appreciative.

"Be careful. It's quite dark now, who knows what creatures might lurk, and you might lose your way," his escalating distress was likely leading to his refusal for her to go on, so she gave his shoulder a squeeze and shook her head.

"Rest assured, Master Baggins, the trees guide me, they will not lead me astray."

And indeed, it didn't take her long to locate the wizard. Sitting atop a boulder looking to the east, puffing away on his pipe. Moria wordlessly took a place next to the Maia, having taken note of which direction his smoke was going before sitting.

"They've calmed."

"Have they now?"

"Well... I'm not so sure about Thorin. He's been quiet, which, from your perspective might be equally better and worse."

"Hm," Gandalf chuckled, "Indeed." He let out a long plum of O's that varied colour and density, never breaking as they floated away, before turning to her and starting back slightly, "My dear, you've done something to your hair."

Moria brought about the long end of her plaited hair to fiddle with the tied off tip, nearly self conscious by the wizard's reaction.

Gandalf smiled, "It's quite a charming look."

She grinned back, and for a time they were quiet while Gandalf blew out all sorts of shapes with his pipe smoke.

"Do you think I'll be allowed back to Aman at the end of this?" Moria's quiet voice sounded distant, much like the look in her eyes, so far away, "If I... If I survive to the end of this."

"What on Earth do you mean, my dear?"

"I have no power. I'm mortal. I dare not think of what should happen should we encounter an enemy, and should we engage in battle and I become wounded, mortally wounded even... Where would I go...? I know nothing of my so-called fate-changing quest. I don't know my place in this company, or their quest. I just... worry... that I'll never see them again."

"Oh, my dear," Gandalf brought an arm around her and drew her to nestle along the right side of his body, with his long arm rested atop her shoulders, a new weight of warmth came as well. "I do not have the answers you seek, but I can tell you this. Your power cannot be taken from you, not all of it. You were _born_ with that power, just as I was created with mine. It is a part of you, you must simply exercise it, strengthen it. It is simply lost, and you must find it within you again. Though... that should prove a difficult feat in itself. But with all the work, it will pay off greatly, and you'll probably find yourself even better at wielding your power than before... Perhaps even expanding your power in ways you didn't think possible before."

Moria digested his words carefully, with her brow pinched in concentration and a minute frown on her mouth, but the last bit struck something familiar. She'd heard those words before, from another wizard.

"Expand my power in ways I couldn't imagine possible. Alatar said that to me..." She looked up and got a face full of wiry beard, she scrambled backward enough to catch the wizard's eyes, "What did she mean by that. What do _you_ mean by that?"

Gandalf sighed through his nose and took a puff from his pipe before mumbling apologetically, "It is not my place-,"

She shook her head, cutting him off, "It is your place, surely. There is a time and place for everything. Now is the time, now is the place, there is no other I can ask, and you clearly have the answers I seek."

The wizard, puffed and puffed until his pipe was spent and tucked it away before beginning the tale with a weary sigh, "You were taken by agents of Melkor - ah, Morgoth - not older than the month of your birth and deposited in deepest, blackest depths of the Misty Mountains. Everyone searched, everywhere but to no avail it seemed. Luckily, Durin found you, just fine... but not completely unscathed." He heaved another great sigh, looking skyward before continuing, "My dear girl, you were not dropped into that pit to simply be rid of you. It was a matter of corruption, a work in process, the first step toward molding you into an entirely different creature. Your light would dim and as it did the dark would take its place, figurative and quite literally. You would dim and dim, until you were on the brink of death and your light dull enough to harvest, and with a new darkness instilled in you, a new life, you would become a being of Melkor, a being of darkness, the likes of which the World would have suffered greatly from."

Moria's eyes widened, throat gone dry and stomach churning something like fear and sickness in a balanced mix, this was a portion of the story she had been stinted.

"But as I said," Gandalf added quickly, "Durin discovered you and bore you from that hole, your light shining just enough to guide him through the dark, and guide the way back. You are a great power, Moria, greater than you know. Melkor wanted to extinguish the Living Light of Ea, wanted to use you as his greatest weapon, but your light wouldn't be put out so easily."

A small smile quirked her lips; a tough, little Valar child, she was once called.

"You were left in the darkness and darkness you nearly became. A dark creature..." Gandalf paused, "It was and still is said that the darkness still lingers in you, but there was no way to evaluate the theory. Aside from your ever-brooding manner, and avid disdain for the collective people of Middle Earth, we weren't sure... You are a light, you know this, but you are a light that can not only illuminate and banish the darkness, but quite possibly bend it to your whim, if you bolstered the power." He finally glanced down to her, a minute little smirk on his mouth, "A light that can reach even the darkest of creatures."

"How can you know this?"

"Foresight," he answered simply, "Not my own, of course, but a heavy worry was among the Valar and Eru. You would've been destroyed on the spot upon delivery to Aman, if it were for that vision."

"Amme," she murmured, almost to herself, "She put the World into a sleep."

"So that you would gain your light back, so that she could protect you."

Hours could have passed as Moria nodded, feeling like many things made sense now, though that new bit of information didn't mean anything in the slightest since she had remained in Valinor after being returned by Durin. She nodded and nodded some more, but then stopped and shook her head abruptly, the matter she had worried over hadn't been touched on, "But I'm still mortal, what if-," her words fell short, and Gandalf glanced down, confusion on his face.

"Something's wrong," she murmured, then swooped herself away from underneath the wizard's arm, glancing back from the way she had come, the way of the camp, "Something's wrong, Gandalf!" she broke into a sprint, headed for the camp, barely taking note of the trees waving leaves guiding the way, though she was guided by something else entirely that tugged from within her. Thorin - the dwarves and the hobbit - were in trouble.

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Note: The Blue wizards as women is just my headcanon, if that's not your cup of tea you don't have to accept it, you can pretend you never read it. But I think it would neat. Also 'amme' means mother. Aaaand, what else... I'm not sure if there's anything else. Questions or comments? Feel free to ask in a review or hit the PM. Thanks for the followers and reviews!


	6. Accepting Destiny & The Power of Light

_Yavanna had not released Moria from her hold since Durin unfurled his long beard from around her and deposited the babe into her arms. Not a single second since that moment. She would not let another lay a hand on her girl when they returned to Valinor. But her hold became especially encompassing and protective when her husband entered the nursery with an ill look across his features..._

_"She's just a _child_," Aulë's heart stuttered painfully when Yavanna's firm words failed, sounding begged more than anything else. "How can you believe such a darkness has been instilled in her? How? My darling, look!" he heard her frantic urge and a moment later she stood before him, with a sleeping Moria in her arms, "_Look_ at her! She is no bigger than your hand! This is our daughter! __**Our **_**daughter**_. Not some orcish blight of Melkor's make!" she pleaded._

_Aulë raised his hand, glad to see his wife not shift her stance and recoil from him like she had to the others, his fingers brushed along the white hair springing free from the blanket's tight folds. A smile pulled at his lips, glad to have his baby girl back, but... his face grew vacant again, saddened. He turned to the window, tree branches were firmly stretched across the formerly open space, breaks between the branches allowed for some light, but it was obvious that even that little bit was too much for Yavanna's tastes._

_"Her light was never meant to dim."_

_"It will regain its former strength!" the Earth Queen argued, "She is only ill! Let her come back to her full health again! Let her grow and she will shine again! Even more brilliantly than before!" her voice was reaching the brink of hysteria. She settled herself in her husband's vision again, tears streaming from her wide angry, scared eyes. "Do not let Eru destroy our child, Aulë," she whispered, "She is not dark. She is not." Her gaze fell down to Moria who had begun to stir at the sound of her mother's frantic tone._

_Tears dropped and bled dark spots onto Moria's blanket. Aulë felt his own eyes sting, but withheld his tears, instead reaching gently to trace the line of Yavanna's jaw until his hand rested against the back of her neck, and her face tilted up, meeting his gaze._

_"I will speak to him," he said, with the unspoken promise that their daughter would not die this night, nor any other night hence. Yavanna smiled gratefully through shining watery eyes._

_Aulë left the room, seeing to his words, to his promise, leaving Yavanna and Moria in the nursery with windows covered by branches whose weaving had quietly grown tighter._

_The Earth Queen settled herself onto the sofa, a melodic hum in her throat to soothe Moria back into undisturbed slumber until she murmured, "I will protect you, my little one. I have put the World to sleep, you see, just for you. Just for you..." she brushed her lips against her daughter's cool forehead, she tucked her wrapped babe closer to her body, to transfer some of her warmth to her, "You're safe now." Her whispered words seemed to ignite a thrum of renewed light and warmness within Moria, a small flicker. Yavanna smiled, "I won't let them dim your light again. You won't be stolen again."_

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Moria's window was free of branches. In fact, the view toward the East that was normally obscured by a thicket of tall trees was cleared completely. The trees ushered left and right to give a clear, clean view to the distant land of Middle Earth. Yavanna sat on the window sill she'd cracked more than a week ago, staring out, but not seeing anything, not really.

"Take rest, my love." Her husband's voice startled her, but she did not tear her eyes away from the East. She felt his hands sweep her long hair behind her shoulder, fingers brushing against the line of jaw. "She shall weather fine without your constant worrisome gaze upon her."

"That's just it..." she mumbled, "I can barely see her. How are we to know if she is not -," her words halted on her tongue, emotion clogging her throat, "Should she -,"

"Believe me," Aulë interrupted before she could continue to struggle with her implication, "If something were to happen, we would know."

"But she is mortal," Yavanna finally turned her eyes to him, they were wide and tired, shining with unshed tears, reflecting a look he recalled from ages ago. "If something should happen and we know... What then?"

He drew his fingers away from the hinge of her jaw and through her hair, just so he would not have to meet the gaze that crippled him so, "That is not for us to involve ourselves in. It is by Eru's judgment whether she attain her place amongst us again."

Yavanna's breath caught in gasp, "Should she die?"

Aulë knew he would find tears streaming down her cheeks if he looked up, and if he saw them, he would undoubtedly give in to her pleading whim, whatever it may be, though he knew exactly what she would beg of him, like she had all those ages ago. He removed his touch from her, turned his back to her, "She must prove herself to him."

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Moria was running like she never had before, led by an emotion that was consuming, pushing, pulling, screaming at her entire inner being. It wasn't anything she could place feeling once before; though in slight likeness she could relate it to a time when she was much, much smaller and had lost her mother in the garden around their home, she thought she was lost again, though this time for good, she felt hollow at first, but then all at once she felt a thrill powering alongside her fear and despair, and she was determined to find her way, find her mother again. So blinded by determination was she that she ran headlong into her father's legs, and stumbled back onto her behind. He'd chuckled and plucked her from her fallen slump and together they'd found Yavanna not a few moments later. But in comparison to this feeling now that was thrumming in her, the feeling in the garden was nothing.

She felt dread as if it wasn't her own, as if it came from another source, or even multiple sources. All this fear she could not claim became hers, and then she _was_ scared. She was _terrified_ and she had no idea why; all she knew was that she must find the company again, she **must**.

The Eastern sky was slowly beginning to lighten, and Moria called in surprise, "We spoke all through the night, Olórin?"

She couldn't hear Gandalf's reply, so faint with distance spanning between them, she was sprinting through the trees, far ahead of him than she was aware. She only managed to slow when she heard the sound of strange voices growing nearer.

"Moria!" she heard Gandalf calling as he caught up to her, panting, "My dear, you run like the very wind itself."

"There are voices, they sound not like our dwarven folk," she said, brow creased with worry.

He glanced beyond, straining to hear what she did, then dropped a hand on her shoulder, "Step lightly. I fear our friends may have stumbled upon a troll camp."

"Trolls?!" she very nearly shrieked, and clamped a hand over her mouth as she followed Gandalf's lead, and through the trees they could see, indeed, the dwarves and their burglar were in quite a mess. Each put in a sack, cinched at the neck with rope, a few of them were put on a large spit being rotated above a huge fire. Just as she peeled her hand away from her mouth and was about to wonder what they were going to do Bilbo raised his voice and struggled to his feet, hopping in his sack as he had all three trolls' attentions settled on him. He was talking about dwarf cooking techniques.

"Good lad, playing for time," Gandalf chuckled, "Here, see if you can't spirit away a few dwarves in the pile over there while I wait for the sun to raise to a good clean lighting."

"Right," Moria murmured and they went separate ways. She didn't know much about the men, elves, or hobbits that inhabited the World, concerning dwarves she knew of their language and little else beyond her father being their creator, but of the dark creatures that plagued the World she knew enough. She knew the weaknesses and how to extinguish the lives of those who pledged their allegiance to Morgoth and his servants. She knew that the clean, bright, illuminating light of day was the best of defense against those creatures, but some would die in direct sight of the sun, harden completely into stone, never to be reawakened into flesh again. Trolls were some of those creatures.

And with the sun on the rise, it wouldn't be long before their troll problem was solved. They just needed to make sure none of their dwarves were devoured and forever lost in the process before dawn.

From where she stood at the thickly forested edge of the small clearing the troll camp was centered in, the dwarves and Bilbo dressed in sacks were on the very opposite side. She needed to make her way around to the other side, she needed to do something, Bilbo had just saved Bombur from being eaten whole by saying they were infected with worms - a lie which took the dwarves a bit of time to pick up on and hurriedly and enthusiastically agree with - but the trolls, or at least one of them, claimed they would not be taken as fools.

A branch snapped under foot and Moria gasped, she glanced down then looked up to see the trolls had heard, as well as some of the dwarves.

"What's tha'? Another burglarhobbit skulkin' 'round here?" the largest and seemingly brightest of the trolls started her way, but then, with a sudden burst of thought, she knew that yes, this was it! It was her turn to distract them, she couldn't steal away any of the dwarves, but she could play for time too! She tumbled from the foliage and into sight, and the dwarves gasped and called her name - well, her fake name.

"That's no dwarf," the troll turning the spit said.

"That ain't a burglarhobbit neither, 's too tall and fair," the one who'd started her way said with a step backward.

"Sorta looks like an elf, we never 'ad elf before," the spit-turning troll muttered with mild interest, "Grab 'er, William."

The dwarves called out desperately, Bilbo stared on in horror, as the troll who'd plucked Bombur from the ground and tried to eat him rushed toward Moria. They were shouting for her to run, to fight, to do anything besides stand there, but she awestruck, rooted to the ground. It was just as the troll reached a hand to her, his squeak of pain unheard as his fingers began to sizzle and cement into stone when Gandalf's voice boomed loudly, his form slightly silhouetted from where he stood atop a large boulder. "The dawn will take you all!" he crowed with a mighty thump from the end of his staff onto the boulder. It shook with the sound of thunder and then split, the glow the rising sun spilling forth and bathing them all in warmth and light. The trolls groaned and wailed as the light touched their skin and in short moments turned them forever into statues of their former living selves.

All was still for a moment or two, the fire crackling as the creak of the solidified trolls quieting, and the dwarves looking to Gandalf finally released laughter out relief and joy.

The morning passed quickly, the sun had climbed to beat directly down upon them by the time all the dwarves were removed from their sacks and the spit, then redressed.

"Where did you go, if I may ask?" Thorin wondered, fully dressed in his armour and weapons again. He glanced between Gandalf and Moria, having not known Moria had left in search of the wizard, not knowing she was safe from harm until they were all captured and settled into sacks.

"To look ahead," Gandalf answered easily.

"And what brought you back?"

The wizard glanced to Moria, a smile twitching on his lips before he looked back to Thorin, "Looking behind."

The dwarf prince followed Gandalf's gaze to her, taking in her disheveled braid and mussed attire from her hurried sprint to find the company again.

She shifted uncomfortably under his glance, but his scrutinising gaze was the least of her worries. She understood now that it was all their fear and strife combined that she had felt, their emotion that she felt as her own. And then when the troll had reached to grab her, the tips of his fingers has singed and smoked and turned to stone, she wondered what would have happened if he had taken her in his hold, she wondered of the power that still lingered in her body that caused the fingers of a troll to turn solid. She wondered if this is what Gandalf meant but exercising her power, was it coming back to her now? Had the need of the dwarves roused her power to the forefront to provide aid - though she didn't know how to use it. Her hands clenched into fists and unclenched, feeling a slight tingle in her palms.

"Nasty business. Still, they are all in one piece," Gandalf said, effectively pulling Thorin's attention away from Moria. He had heard the squeal of shock and pain from the troll, he had seen the creature recoil as if bitten, but surely none of the others had seen, or if they had, they wouldn't be able to understand or explain it, before he split the boulder and saved them all. He hoped that Thorin had not seen it, though the dwarf prince was still irate about allowing her into his company with such a sensitive quest, he didn't need the dwarf asking questions or making demands for explanations or anything of the like.

"No thanks to your burglar," he commented.

Moria glanced in Bilbo's direction, very prepared to defend the brave hobbit, but Gandalf beat her to it, "He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that." Exactly. Exactly! She nodded and looked back to the hobbit, smiling at his courage and cleverness. These dwarves relied on their brawn, nerves of solid metal, they would soon realise that gentle folk, such as Bilbo (and herself), were just as useful, even if they weren't the strongest or toughest. She saw a remorseful expression cross Thorin's face, and figured that was just enough, the headstrong dwarf would likely never admit to being wrong or give his thanks. The stubbornness of dwarves.

Gandalf's eyes drifted toward the three hulking statues, "They must have come down from the Ettenmoors," he murmured. Moria was lost when it came to the geography of Middle Earth, she knew Valinor like the back of her hand, but here, she was relying solely on these dwarves well learned and experienced judgement, (as well as the waving guidance of the trees). But it was curious, even to her, that these creatures that were born, lived and thrived in darkness, would leave the security of their shaded dwellings.

"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?" Thorin asked.

"Oh, not for an age, not since a darker power ruled these lands," Gandalf's eyes shortly settled on Moria before he glanced all around their forest surroundings, "They could not have moved in daylight."

"There must be a cave nearby," the dwarf prince surmised. After a quick discussion half of the company was trekking back to their camp to gather and pack up their supplies, while the rest herded the stolen ponies to the still tethered ones, and once gathered as a whole group again they followed Gandalf's lead to search for caves in the closest mountain face.

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Note: So... Yep. Slowly but surely. Giving into that born protector within her. Also Valar power coming back? Whaaat? Hm hm! Interesting. Did Thorin see? Did anyone else see? WHO'S TO KNOW! But soon it will be time to search a stinky troll hoard! Yay!

As always reviews are very much appreciated. As are favourites and follows.

I OWN NOTHING! Aside from my OC and the subplot I've introduced with her.


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